Milk Shake

Milk Shake is one of the sweetest cats I've ever adopted. He purrs loudly when he snuggles in my lap and his black and white coat is always shiny. But sometimes I wonder if Milk Shake remembers his life before I adopted him. Does he remember that dark and stormy night? Will I ever forget it?

The day I adopted Milk Shake began at Bucks and Spurs Guest Ranch, a dude ranch near Springfield, in southwest Missouri. Killing time as the cowboys saddled our horses, I tried to play with the farm cats that occupied the barn. Milk Shake was the only one who would cuddle. When the horses were saddled, I left Milk Shake, who had stretched out in my arms and was purring loudly, on the back porch as we set out on our trail ride.

We were out riding near an old Civil War site when the sunny skies of the Bucks and Spurs Guest Ranch turned dark and stormy. Thunder rumbled in the distance as we gazed upon sunken grave sites barely visible in the snarled underbrush. My horse skittered when Milk Shake suddenly appeared near the only grave marked with a tombstone and let out a mournful meow.

It's been said that animals often display a sixth sense about situations, especially cats. That could be why the Egyptians held them in such high regard, and even deemed them to be deity.

"What is it kitty," I queried. "There's something about this place, this spot, isn't there?

Milk Shake started to “meow” a response when suddenly in the trees, the leaves rustled and a horse sneezed, and in the shrubbery appeared a horse carrying on its back a tired and wounded little drummer boy, ragged and shoeless. Slumped over his weary horse, the little boy may have been sleeping or he may have been dead. The old bony horse stopped right in front of that lone grave marked with a tombstone.

Again, Milk Shake let out a mournful meow.

Milk Shake's fur stood on end as he coughed up a furball and thought, "I don't remember eating that.

"The drummer's eyes opened slowly as he struggled to sit upright in the saddle. But his horse had other plans as it lay down near the grave and passed away there on the spot. He had accomplished his mission, to return the boy back to familiar grounds.

"Water... water, please..." the lad hoarsely spoke. Trying to hit a note on the drum, his fatigue cause him to miss and strike the deceased pony he sat upon.

"There, there, no need to beat a dead horse so to speak," said Roxanne, "I'll give you some of my water. It's charcoal filtered through reverse osmosis."

Rox tended to give out too much information when she was nervous or afraid. And this time she was in no shape to be riding a horse. As she leaned over to give the little drummer boy a drink, Roxanne fell off her horse and into the open grave.


Roxanne gagged at the stench of the grave. The odor wasn't that of death as one would expect. It was obvious Milk Shake and his catty friends had been using the soft dirt for a singles polka bar, which is really slang for a catnip hubble-bubble den, which is slang for Tom and Jerry's Ozark Turtle surprise.

And what a surprise it was, especially when Roxanne realized there was a tunnel leading off at an angle, deeper into the ground! She gave a shriek of surprise, but quickly quelled it, as she grabbed hold of the quirt that had dropped from her grasp when she fell. Gingerly she inched toward the tunnel and wondered why she felt the need to explore further when she was obviously getting a catnip contact high right where she was. Could it be that while no one was paying attention to Milk Shake, the sweet kitty moseyed back to the barn at Bucks and Spurs ranch where he planned to hide in the hay loft ready to pounce when Roxanne emerged from the tunnel that began inside the grave and ended in the edge of tack and saddle room.

That was where Milk Shake made his move and took out a tiny ray gun from beneath his fur, because we all know that cats are little aliens out to accomplish world domination! Milk Shake used one of his sharp claws to set the ray gun's power to "KILL" and waited for the right moment, the tip of his tail twitching in anticipation.The wounded drummer boy, who had crept through the tunnel behind Roxanne, had his own plans. Turns out he wasn't as helpless as he appeared.

"Rat-a-tat-tat," he tapped on the drum that hung by his side.

"RAT-A-TAT-TAT," he tapped louder.

"All right, All right! I hear you." said Roxanne.

Her loud nasal voice caused Milk Shake to jump and shoot the hound dog that had come sniffing into the barn to see what all the ruckus was about.

Milk Shake hissed as the poor dog disappeared in a puff of green smoke, which caused the wounded drummer boy to spin around wildly, looking for his dog. He spied Milk Shake beside a quickly vanishing mist of green, licking himself, as cats do, and cringed - because not only was he not a cat person, he was desperately allergic.

The creepy wounded drummer boy sneezed, frightening Milk Shake who leapt sideways, his tail straight up in the air and ears laid back. As he crashed to the horse manure-covered ground beneath the hayloft, he discovered the myth about cats always landing on their feet wasn't true. He landed, instead on his head, right on top of the wounded drummer boy's drum.

The End!

Authors: Susan Wade, Patsy Bell Hobson, Phillip Secca, RoseMarie Combrinck Coetzee and Terry Dubbs

From It was a Dark and Stormy Night on Facebook. Join the group and add to the stories!

The Arena

Dusting off his chaps with his crushed cowboy hat, Derek swore under his breath at the feisty horse that had tossed him onto the arena floor.

Then he pretended not to see the rodeo stunt queen that had distracted him.

"How does she get on a horse with jeans so tight?,” he wondered.

"Women and horses," he smiled and muttered.

Scanning the crowd, Derek waved his hat, straightened up tall and walked out of the arena as the crowd cheered. She was gone. Where was the rodeo queen?

As soon as the cowboy hit the dirt, she wheeled around and slipped out of the arena. She had caught his glance and didn't want him to feel embarrassed any more than he likely already was.

Patsy was a buxom beauty who knew boys and men turned their heads and stared, sometimes even drooled, when she walked past, especially when she wore her tight jeans and red cowboy boots.

But, the truth was, Patsy enjoyed spending time with the rodeo clowns. She loved a man in big shoes especially when they were saddle sore. Really, it was the big clown feet that drew the buxom beauty. How do they walk in those things?

Derek was done for the day. A hot shower and a clean shirt may help him score a little better tonight at Ponchera Cerveza.

While he showered, Derek thought of the last time he went to Ponchera Cerveza. Thanks to the tequila shots, the events of that night were piecemeal images - most of them involving Patsy, her red boots and his desire for rodeo clown-sized feet.

"Lime, salt, tequila? Salt, red boots, lime, tequila? Salt, tequila, lime, feet?" he wondered aloud while the hot water in the shower of the five-star hotel where he was spending the night eased the aches resulting from his failed attempt to ride Tornado.

As he relaxed in the shower, Derek’s thoughts turned toward Tornado, a horse that left rodeo cowboys wishing…

While Patsy was polishing her red boots, she was thinking of Jackson. Now, he was a rodeo clown that cleaned up pretty good, thought Patsy. And he could park his clown shoes in my bunk house the day he decides to retire.

Patsy rubbed those boots to a shine as she remembered, Jackson has a whole closet full of clown shoes. True, it's only two pairs of enormous shoes, but they could fill a standard 1930's suburban bungalow closet. Especially in my guest house.

Meanwhile, as Derek relaxed in the shower, his thoughts turned toward Tornado, a horse that left rodeo cowboys wishing they were librarians or ice cream vendors. Tornado was the ultimate "widow-maker" for sure.

Nine out of 10 cowboys vowed to change professions if they ever had to ride that horse again; with the 10th cowboy actually becoming a dentist, which was a great choice for him since all the rodeo cowboys now bring their broken teeth to him.

While Patsy polished her red boots with the sweaty blue bandanna she had swiped from Derek's saddle bag, she thought about Jackson's unusually large clown shoes, crooked teeth and bad breath.

Shuddering at the memory of the time Jackson surprised her with a kiss behind the concession stand at the rodeo grounds, stepping on her toes with his red, purple and yellow shoes, her thoughts turned to halitosis and her upcoming appointment with Bart Stetson, the former cowboy clown now a dentist whose TV ads guaranteed the brightest, whitest dentures in town.

Thoughts of bright, white teeth made her think of the new librarian at the downtown branch. When she checked out the latest erotic western - "Ride 'Em Cowgirl" - Thursday afternoon, she noticed the new guy with pearly-perfect teeth was checking her out.

"I wonder what size shoe he wears," Patsy thought as she polished her red boots to a high sheen.

Meanwhile, in room 2109, Derek decided to get out of the shower. He was getting pruney and the hot water was losing pressure again, yes, even in a five star hotel.

"Think I'll call that rodeo stunt queen and see about a little room service,” he said out loud to no one as he hung up his towel and turned out the light in the Italian marble bathroom.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Tornado - the wicked horse that had thrown Derek on his butt - was polishing his horseshoes and whinnying softly.

Poor Tornado had a toothache.

It was a toothache of extreme horsey proportions and he wanted to be rid of it in any way possible, so he kicked up a major fuss and created an awesome din!

Major Dr. Fuss had been a calvary vet for years and followed the rodeo scene every year knowing that he and Dr. Orsum Din would be in great demand in case of any problems with the horses.

Orsum Din was a fourth generation Arabic Horse specialist and was known as a renowned horse whisperer! While Fuss went to work on the aneasthetic, Din whispered in Tornado’s ear: "Tornado, make this next ride Derek’s last ride on the rodeo circuit and I'll replace this rotting horsey tooth with a glittering gold incisor."

Tornado whinnied softly and tossed his head to let Dr. Din know he understood. The horse's plan was to step on Derek's rib cage after the cowboy was down in the dirt.

Tornado returned to his stall and began practicing his cowboy-crushing stomp.
At least Tornado thought he was practicing cowboy-crushing stomps. But Fuss and Din had loaded Tornado up on enough mind- and mouth-numbing medications to choke a, well, horse. To the casual observer, Tornado looked like he was prancing in place. But in Tornado's mind, the horse whisperer’s words kept repeating.

Thanks to the meds, Tornado was feeling no pain and the whispered message echoing in his brain was distorted. "Make this next ride an eclectic circus ride and I'll replace the spotted hosiery worn by Ruth with a glittering gold sun visor."

Fuss and Din were alarmed when Tornado began snoring. The poor over-medicated horse slept until the the next day. Tornado only woke up when he heard the crowd singing the “Star Spangled Banner.”

“Another day, another rodeo,” thought Tornado. “If Derek didn't wear so much aftershave and cologne I wouldn't try so hard to get him off my back.”

Meanwhile, Derek was about to cry because he couldn't find his lucky blue bandanna. He considered it lucky because, well, he was wearing it the first time he "got lucky." That's right, the blue bandanna was around Derek's neck the first time he...

"Oh there it is!" he said with glee. "Right where I left it. In my saddle bag! But hey! What the heck? My lucky blue bandanna smells like, like, is that shoe polish I smell?"

Derek knew there was only one person in this town that used scented shoe polish. It was that special order "new car" scent shoe polish.

Derek was mad now. Enraged! Derek reached for his saddle bag again. Someone had been pawing around in his stuff.

"Hey! What the..." and there it was. Right there in his saddle bag. And now he had touched it. Now, HIS fingerprints were all over the revolver that had been intended for use in a robbery at the bandanna store.

The robbery had been a dismal failure because there happened to be a film crew across the street setting up for the a National Geographic special about snow peas used for fixing nitrogen in the soil and are therefore an excellent early crop in the spring vegetable garden. But I digress. Clearly, someone was setting Derek up to take the fall for a robbery.

Derek knew one person on the rodeo circuit who wanted his reputation as a law-abiding cowboy tarnished. And that was Erek, his evil twin brother! They were identical twins, except for the little twirly mustache Erek had grown to take the pressure off his eyebrows.

See, Erek had anxiety issues and continuously played with his hair, which had now completely fallen out, and had gone to messing with his eyebrows, which were starting to fade, so the mustache was next.

Erek had always been jealous of Derek. Going back to that fateful night when Erek and Derek were at the cathouse and the last hooker left chose Derek because of the blue bandana - and left Erek standing there, alone and feeling foolish in his red bandana.

Suddenly the doorbell rang. In walked Patsy, wearing her tight jeans and red cowboy boots.

"Is that a bandanna in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?" she asked Derek as she tripped over her over-sized cowboy boots and fell flat on her face.

Looking at Patsy sprawled on the floor, Derek realized she was nothing more than a rodeo clown in tight jeans. He sneared as he stepped over her to retrieve the revolver covered with his fingerprints from the kitchen counter covered with bandannas of every color imaginable.

To his surprise, Erek was hiding on the other side of the counter where he was writing his farewell letter to his brother Derek.

"I'm so sorry. Brother, I just want to end it all. This has gone on too long. I can't even remember how this sick, sad, melodrama began," Erik's letter started.

Derek leaned closer to his brother and said: "Don't read any more, Erek. I don't know how it got started, either. All I know is this nonsense has to end - soon!"

As Derek and Erek performed the time-honoured man-hug ritual, Patsy finally pulled her buxom self up off the floor and wailed, "NNNNNNNNNnnnoooooooooooooooo!!!!!"
(Patsy took a breath, her bountiful bosom heaving) “ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!” She flailed her arms and turned toward Derek and Erek, her blue eyes blazing.

Derek and Erek stared in amazement as Patsy’s flailing broke the clasp on her bra and bandannas sprang free and flew about the room.

Patsy, it turns out, wasn't so buxom after all and Derek's bandanna wasn't the only one she'd swiped from the rodeo circuit cowboys.

Derek and Erek started laughing and pointing at Patsy's chest as they grabbed the bandannas. (The boys later used the bandannas to enhance their denim-clad profiles at the honky tonks they frequented in search of buxom rodeo queens.)

Meanwhile, Tornado - the over-drugged horse with a toothache - dropped dead on the dusty floor of the arena, nearly falling on top of Lerek, Derek and Erek's other brother.

Lerek, the rodeo clown named Most Popular by the rodeo queens, pulled a rainbow-colored bandanna from his enormous clown shoes and waved it to show the crowd he wasn't hurt.

The End! The End! The End!

Authors: Susan Wade, Patsy Bell Hobson, Karen Libby, Melinda Arnold, Phillip Secca, Terry Dubbs, RoseMarie Combrinck Coetzee

From It was a Dark and Stormy Night on Facebook. Join the group and add to the stories!

A Digital Meltdown

I was unpacking from my Springfield, Missouri, USA vacation when I realized my digital camera was missing. That, and the Candy House Gourmet Chocolates were nowhere to be found.

I wondered if I'd left them at the Mansion at Elfindale B&B where I'd spent a wonderful week while savoring Springfield's sites, sights, sounds and scenery, all recorded on my digital camera.

No one ever thinks of Springfield as a Celebrity Spotting location. But now I had the photos to prove people watching in this town is not only an under-appreciated hobby but it was about to become a very lucrative career for me. If and when I found my camera.

I looked through my purse, my luggage, my car. I called the Springfield-Branson National Airport. I also called Fantastic Caverns, North America's only drive-thru cave. I called all of the hot spots that were conveniently located near the Ozark Empire Fairgrounds but no camera was to be found today.

I remembered a strange man that seemed to be following me while I was in the beautiful downtown area. I saw him behind me as I walked passed Trolley's, Nona's, The Coffee Lounge, Maria's, Bruno's, Lohmeyer's Funeral Home...The Discovery Center....Casper's... What did he want from me? My Camera! Why would he want my camera? Who was this mysterious man?

I first noticed the man, who wore a floppy canvas hat pulled down over his eyebrows, when I was having coffee at The Mud House, where I snapped a picture of Brad Pitt, who was visiting his hometown.

When I was strolling along Bob Barker Avenue on the Drury University campus where Bob Barker went to college, I saw the stranger lurking behind a hedge. No sign of Bob Barker, though.

I spotted John Goodman and Kathleen Turner at Missouri State University. They were in Springfield for the summer opening of Tent Theatre at their alma mater.

I kept retracing my steps ... The Landers Theatre, The Gillioz Theatre, Battlefield Mall (Broadway star Kim Crosby was shoe shopping there).

At the Mizumoto Stroll Garden, world-famous travel writer Patricia Bella Hobbblestone and her husband, Jeff, also known as Macaroni Pants were strolling hand in hand. I got a great picture of them kissing passionately on the moon bridge!

Then it came to me. I took a photo of Henry the Hippo at Dickerson Park Zoo, then went to the giraffe feeding deck. After feeding Stretch and the other giraffes, I set my camera bag down to clean the giraffe slobber off my hands.

I don't recall seeing the stranger at the zoo, but the Hobblestones were there.

Patricia Bella introduced herself and asked if she could interview me for a travel feature she was writing about Springfield.

"I like to talk with tourists for my stories," Patricia Bella said.

Macaroni Pants picked up my camera bag and carried it to a picnic table where Patricia Bella and I talked about my visit to Springfield.

I told Patricia that I had been out to the old Young Brothers farm out on Haseltine Road where the infamous Young Brothers Massacre took place in 1932. Six of Springfield's finest were gunned down, and it became a national crisis until the Young Brothers were cornered in Houston, Texas, three days later

And while I was out there, I was taking pictures of Ruell Chappell and Lori Anne Locke while they were singing songs from their album, “Storm's Comin',” telling stories with their songs about the events that took place that fateful day.

Lori told me that if I was interested, I could find the CD/DVD set for only $15 at Barnes & Noble on South Glenstone Avenue in Springfield or online at Ruell Chappell Music. (Whatta shameless plug!)

Patricia Bella asked me about my favorite place to visit in Springfield. I thought about the last time I was in Springfield, when my children were with me.

My daughter tried to open her mouth as wide as the teeth at the Discovery Center. My son caught a foul ball at Hammons Field during a Springfield Cardinals game. After the game, we saw a free concert in Jordan Valley Park.

RATS!! The photos from that trip were on the card in my now-missing camera!

To add to this depressing situation of the missing camera, I was really bummed out about the missing Candy House Gourmet Chocolates. The box was filled with chocolate covered cherries I promised to to pick up for our Annual Hoe Down & Square Dance at the Springfield Ballet.

I was surprised to get a phone call from Springfield-Branson National Airport, which was having a lost luggage clearance sale before the new airport terminal opened in May 2009. They called to tell me they found my digital camera and box of chocolates. It was odd that my camera would be at the Springfield-Branson National Airport because I drove to Springfield.

I didn't even know Springfield had an airport until the New York Times reporter flew into town to write about Springfield-style Cashew Chicken. I could tell that this story was about to have a happy ending when I noticed in my purse a can of shaving creme and a pair of tickets to the Springfield Cardinals home opener baseball game on April 9.

I tossed the shaving cream and called my good friend in Springfield to ask if she wanted to go to the Cardinals game.

Much to my surprise, she said that she couldn't make it because she and her kids were going to visit the Easter Bunny out at the Rutledge-Wilson Farm Community Park April 11. She said it was all the girls could talk about and knew that no matter how nice Kirk's shiny head looked on opening day, nothing would compare to the smiles on those kids' faces after visiting the nearly 208-acre Farm Park. It was just one of the 92 parks that their family had been trying to make it around to in the Springfield-Greene County metro area.

I let her know that while I thought that event would be pretty cool, I still thought she could squeeze in a baseball game. The baseball game, after all, was on April 9 and the Easter Bunny wouldn't be at Rutledge-Wilson Farm Park until April 11.

"Well, duh!" said my friend, Ima Dumast. "I never thought of that. Maybe we could go to the Springfield Art Museum and have cashew chicken at one of those cool restaurants downtown before the game, too. Did you hear about the a story in the New York Times about cashew chicken? I've been craving cashew chicken since I read it."

While my thoughts turned to the mouthwatering idea of cashew chicken, which was invented in Springfield in 1963, I couldn't stop thinking about my missing camera.

I also wondered if the airport personnel had put the camera in the same bag as the chocolates. What if the chocolates melted on the camera? What if the chocolates melted? What if the security personnel ate the chocolates? How would I get my money back to buy more chocolates? All this thinking of chocolates made me crave those chocolate-covered cherries even more than the fact that I missed my camera and I immediately started repacking to drive back to Springfield.

Once I was in Springfield, I stopped by the Convention & Visitors Bureau to check out the latest and greatest the Queen City had to offer. And there, right on the desk was a dark chocolate camera that looked a lot like my camera, only this one had melty fingerprints.

"Welcome to Springfield!" blurted out Suzanna Wadewrite, the the former beauty queen turned Public Relaxations Manager.

It was then that I noticed she had chocolate cherry breath and there was a smear of chocolate on her cheek.

"Hey, Wadewrite," I sneared. "What's up with the chocolate cherry breath and chocolate-covered camera?"

Suzanna's cheeks turned red as she explained that a man with a floppy hat who worked at the airport had brought the camera and chocolates to her.

"I knew they belonged to you but the box was open and I couldn't resist the chocolate-covered cherries," Suzanna sighed. "I wasn't going to eat all of them!"

I accpeted Suzanna's apology. How could anyone resist Candy House chocolates?

I took my camera and the half-eaten box of chocolates and went home, but not before I picked up a free visitors guide and brochures and started planning my next trip to Springfield.

The End

Contributing Authors: Bob Nelson, Lori Anne Locke, Melinda Arnold, Patsy Bell Hobson, Susan Wade, and Terry Dubbs.

From It was a Dark and Stormy Night on Facebook. Join the group and add to the stories!

The View From Outer Space

I always thought human activity seen from outer space would make Earth look like a busy anthill.

Now I know.

"...and this just in: the Zurich School of Applied Sciences has built a video simulation that displays the flight path of every commercial flight in the world over a 24-hour period. There isn't much of an application for it, but it sure is cool to look at," the international radio blasted from the forward compartment.

"Hmmm, maybe I should try counting jet routes instead of sheep," Susan wondered.

Being the 23rd female in space didn't garner a big fanfare or even a full paragraph in the News-Leader; just business as usual. She was there orbiting the earth to test the effects of zero gravity on certain plants. It was weird to see the tomatoes floating above the vines like little red balloons.

But her pet project was the Venus Flytrap. It always held an amazement for her, a plant that seemed half animal in the way it consumed live nourishment. She fantasized if the zero grav effects would bring out the 'animal' traits in the plant.

"Guess I've been watching too many Star Trek episodes as a kid...and adult!"

"Huh... What the...?"

Was it her imagination, or did the Venus Flytrap just let out a soft, faint growl?

Susan looked at the plant. And then she slowly floated closer toward it. Was it smiling or had Susan been in zero gravity too long? If it was smiling, it wasn't a pleasant, happy smile. It was more of a wicked, evil kind of smile. The kind of smile that made you want to run and hide. But she knew that there was no place to hide in space - the final frontier.

Yet still she could have sworn she saw Vickie move. That was what she named the Flytrap, Vickie. Why a girl's name? Because men are from Mars and women are from Venus – and it's a "Venus" Flytrap.

Yes, dry humor was Susan's specialty.

As Susan floated toward the control panel of the spacecraft to check the oxygen levels, she told her imagination to stop conjuring silly ideas. After months alone in space, she knew her imagination could run wild.Even so, she kept a wary eye on Vickie. She was pretty sure none of the other plants had grown as quickly as Vickie and none of the others smiled or growled.

The next morning, Susan woke to the sound of the onboard computer announcing: "It's 6:03 a.m. central standard time. All systems are operating within approved parameters. Would you like some coffee? I know I could use some more!"

That last comment jolted Susan into full awake mode. "You can use some what!? Wait a minute, you're not the computer! Oh my ... Vickie? No it can't be."

There Vickie stood in all her green glory, grinning wickedly and offering a cup of coffee with a leafy hand.

Then Vickie started humming a song from the Stevie Wonder album titled "The Secret Life of Plants."

"Susan, be a dear and mix up another batch of your secret Miracle Grow formula. I'm getting awfully hungry," the flytrap purred.Susan slowly looked around the space room searching for the plastic bottle that contained Weed Be Gone. She didn't use it often but decided that it was now or never. Plus she liked the added fragrance of apple blossoms that had been incorporated into each bottle.

She grabbed the bottle, pointed the nozzle at Vickie and squeezed the spray trigger. The spray slowly floated through the artificial atmosphere inside the cabin, and then upward (if there is an "up" in space) toward the ceiling.

"Mmmmm, is that apple blossoms?" Vickie squealed. “I love apple blossoms!”

She leapt up and inhaled all of the vapor floating above her with a loud snort! Luckily Vickie hadn't learned to read in her short animated existence.Then she started to cough, gag and turned a slight pink.

Thinking it was now or never, Susan sprang into action! She leapt across the room straight at Vickie Flytrap aiming at her throat... er... stalk. Grabbing with both hands tight she began to pull.

"S-s-susan... that's ... not .... (cough) ...how you ... do the .... Heimlich.... manuveur," Vickie choked out.

Determined to pull the flytrap out of its vase soil, Susan gives it one more mighty PPUUULLLLLL!

SNAP!

Susan, her hands still clenched around Vickie's throat... er... stalk, plopped flat on her rear as the monstrous plant's roots came out of the vase along with potting soil that floated around the gravity-free cabin.

Susan wondered how it was possible to fall on her butt in a gravity-free environment. Then she realized that she had smacked her butt on the ceiling.

"Oh yeah, that's how," she thought.

Turns out Susan had cheated her way through her gravity class. Susan wasn't one to cheat, but she just couldn't understand the concept of "what goes up, must come down." Passing Gravity 101 was required before she could earn the degree that led her to be selected for the flight to study the zero effects of gravity on plants.

Keeping a strong grip on Vickie's throat... er... stalk, Susan watched as Vickie's green face became a paler shade of green. Vickie's eyes bulged and popped with some force, spreading numerous seeds in all directions. As soon as they started floating more steadily, they started sprouting small growth buds, then little leaves, and then Susan's allergies began acting up. All those seeds! The pollen! The spores!

She coughed and sneezed and gasped.

As she took her last breaths, Susan looked out the window of the space ship back to Earth, which looked like a busy anthill.

The End

Contributors: Susan Wade, Phillip Secca, Lori Anne Locke and RoseMarie Combrinck Coetzee

From It was a Dark and Stormy Night on Facebook. Join the group and add to the stories!

The Adriana

Captain Sean Belig was startled awake by the sudden silence inside The Adriana.

He reached for his wooden leg and strapped it on, twisted his eye patch back to where it was supposed to be, rolled out of the bunk. Stepping into the lone swashbuckling boot, as he reached back and slapped that vision of loveliness on her firm backside.

“Get up wench,” he mumbled. “It only gets this quiet when we are approaching heaven or hell.”

Pamela rubbed her perfectly heart-shaped behind where Sean had smacked her and mumbled: “Heaven? Hell? What's the difference?”

But it was too quiet. Except for Capt'n Sean’s stumping up the ladder.

Serpents from the seas of Hades were about. No other living thing made a sound. Even the wind was afraid to stir.

“Wench, fetch me coffee while the sea is calm enough for drinkin it.”

Pamela slipped on her red-hot bikini, jumped on the ski boat and raced toward the beachside Starbucks on Islamorada key in the Florida bay.

The captain's addiction to caffe lattes was stronger than his addiction to buxom Pamela, so it irked her immensely that she was so expendable in his eyes.

“I am going to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget,” she thought to herself as she ordered.

“Hey bartender,” Pamela cooed, “How hot is your warmest hot sauce?”

A slight smile crosses the young bartender's face, “Almost as hot as you.”

“Wonderful. Add three dashes to that coffee... and don't leave town, I may need you later, sugar!” Pamela teased as she bounced out the door.

Pamela revved the engine on the ski boat and headed back to The Adriana, her beautiful, bountiful bosoms bound in a red bikini bouncing as the boat skipped over the waves. (Writer's note: I had to look up the spelling for bosom!)

She held firmly to the hot sauce-spiked coffee with one had while guiding the boat with the other.

“Hah, can`t wait to see him turn red, purple, and green! Must get the camera to hand first though,” she said to herself as a diabolical afterthought

She stepped onto the deck with quivering exitement and ducked quietly into the cabin to get the camera, tucking it into her ample cleavage.

“This pirate getup is getting old on this aging Vietnam Veteran,” she thought as she handed Sean the latte and stepped back as she reached for the the camera.

Pamela was not in the least prepared for what happened next! Sean gasped.... sputtered... turned blue...... and collapsed in a messy heap of latte, wooden leg, and black eye patch. She flung the camera aside and tried to revive him, but the hot sauce prevented her from resussitating him. After many attempts, she had to confess to herself that he was dead.

“No, no, no! He can't be dead! What should I do, what?” Pamela said to herself. “I should call someone... the police!”

Then she thought that might not be such a good idea because they would accuse her of ... of... what’s that word? Medication? Mediation? Pre- something, “Premeditation!”

Yep, the cops are always coming up with scenarios and then plugging the nearest available sucker into the mix. They’d accuse her of killing him for his money; you can bet on that. She’d have to take care of this herself. She’d just have to get rid of the body! Yeah, that’s it. So Pamela begins by dragging captain Sean Bluwiskers up on deck and rolling him overboard. Next she’d have to wipe off all of her fingerprints, can’t have any loose ends.

“See, I’m not such a dumb blonde after all, you old pirate!” she says to the floating captain, “No loose ends.”Then panic jumps back into her pretty green eyes, “Loose ends... The bartender!!!” He’s the only connection to her and the coffee! She has to do something about the bartender.

But what?

This time, Pamela was on a more important mission. In the back of her blonde mind, she had started to formulate an idea. She wanted the Adriana and now she was going all out to get it!

She dressed carefully and assessed the degree of promise her attire would hold for the bartender. Not too sexy, but sensual and alluring, because after all, he had already taken notice of her… attributes when she had met him earlier and she was quite sure he could be very useful if she played her cards right!

By the end of the day, he could be her future or just a pawn in her game.

She strolled into the bar and gave the bartender a look that would make the most experienced pirate blush.She said, “Hey Barkeep! I was over at the Scurvy Dog earlier and they said that your coffee is bitter and your hot sauce is weak!”

Then she smiled at him and their eyes met. She leaned in close to him. Close enough for her lips to brush his cheek and said, “I told him that you ran the finest establishment in the bay area. And then, I gave him the stink-eye.”“Is that so?” he said.

Eyeing her cleavage, he stood back a bit so she would have to lean over the counter a bit more, which of course she did very prettily.

He was becoming enamoured with her charms and she knew it would simply be a matter of time for him to do that which she required of him.

Little did the buxom blonde know she was about to take the dive for captain Sean Bluwiskers demise.

“The Adriana will be MINE once again,” thought the bartender, Johnny Depth. “Little Miss Pamela can be part of my future or just a pawn in the game.”

Apparently old Johnny boy knew captain Sean Bluwishers back when he was still known as just plain old Sean Belig, nuclear physicist. After making his small fortune manufacturing nuclear-powered lawnmowers for people with really big yards, old Sean decided to chuck all the scientific mumbo-jumbo-gumbo and live out his boyhood fantasy of being Old Blue Beard the scurvy pirate of the 8 seas. (I know there are only 7, but try telling Mister Pirate Know-it-All that!)

"I had the idea of nuclear-powered mowers first! I should be the one with the big boat and the curvy blonde,” Johnny reasoned. As luck would have it, young miss Pamela provided the perfect solution to the burning question “How Can I Get Rid of Sean, Nuclear Thief?”

Out of greed and lust and lust for greed, he prepared a lethal mix of nuclear-flavored hot sauce with Sean's name written all over it. And better yet, the dame would get the blame!

Realizing his excitement had caused him to wet himself... again, he quickly ran into the back room for a change of rubber underwear.

Meanwhile back on The Adriana, Pamela watches Sean drift slowly out to sea and nostalgically wishes she had put weights on the body so it would sink to the bottom of the sea, never to be found again.

As luck would have it, a really big wave came at just that precise moment carrying a 24.4 pound dumbbell in its wake! The wave flipped Capt. Sean over and the dumbbell lodged right under his chin!Slowly, Sean sank head first into the sea, up to his Lands End tie leg, trousers.

Unfortunately, an air pocket had formed in the legs of the trousers, which held Sean's feet up in the air.Bobbing with each wave, he looked like a lone syncronized swimmer... unsynced.

“Darn it,” Pamela swore. “He was a terrible dancer alive and he's even worse dead.”She watched Sean's feet bobbing in the air, recalling the time he stomped her toe with his peg leg when they were dancing at…

“OMG! Is that a Coast Guard Patrol Boat speeding this way?” said Pamela. “I wish I had shaved my legs this morning. Some of these guys are hot!”

She quickly adjusted her sarong to form Indian trousers and jumped onto the jet-ski to divert them and lead them off into the opposite direction.

“Perhaps I should conveniently fall off the thing on the other side of the boat,” she thought. “They will be so busy saving me, they won’t notice the feet bobbing out of the water.”

When Pamela “fell” off the jet ski into the warm water, her sarong slipped off and sank to the bottom of the sea, leaving her naked except for a cleavage-revealing bikini top ... and hairy legs.

Pamela, a weak swimmer, was kept afloat by her surgically-enhanced boobs that bobbed on the water like balloons.

Captain Wood, of the Coast Guard patrol boat, asked one of the seamen looking through binoculars what he could see. “I can barely make it out captain, but it looks like big boobies bobbing like balloons. Back and forth. Bob...bob...bob...”

"Hmmm, I don't doubt your judgement, sailor, but maybe I should take a look just to be sure,” said Captain Richard Wood.

Captain Wood looked through the binoculars. "Seaman," he said, beaming a smile. “You're right. Those are big boobies bob, bob, bobbing like balloons. Better sound the alarm. We're going in.”

With that, the captain dived into the water and immediately hit his head on the side of the boat.

The crewmen look at each other, stifling laughs, then decided someone better dive in and save the captain before he drowns.

They looked at one another, each expecting someone else to jump in to save the captain. Shrugging, they started a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who would have to jump in after the captain.Meanwhile, Pamela's big bobbing boobies kept her afloat as she drifted toward the Coast Guard boat.

Forgetting about the captain to attend to the more important task at hand, all of them were leaning over the side of the boat in an effort to see Pamela and her big bountiful bobbing boobs being lifted from the water by very helpful hands. They gave her brandy to warm her. They rubbed her hair dry. They got her some dry clothes. They…”

Oh my goodness” one exclaimed “We’ve forgotten about Captain Rick! We have to go back for him!”

There was great consternation when they couldn’t see any sign of him! He had disappeared!

The crew turned the ship around and headed in what they hoped was the right direction. They had to find Captain Rick. He, after all, was the only one who knew the way home! He kept that compass under lock and key, a key very similar to the one Pamela wore around her neck on a thin silver chain.

There was, however, no sign of the captain, so they started to make up stories as to what they would say at the inquiry that would no doubt be in the cards.

By now, it was getting dark, and being well-versed in finding direction by the stars, they sailed directly back in the direction of the city lights, glowing in the distance.

In the meantime, Pamela was trying the key on the box which housed the compass. She and Captain Rick had been associated for a long time, although no one else had ever been aware of their affair.

Meanwhile, Captain Rick was treading water and wishing Pamela would hurry up and bring the canister with her. He had been in the water for several hours, and was beginning to get rather cold, but it had been very neccessary for the whole drowning scenario to be staged.

The FBI would commend them for their fine handling of The Adriana case, and he and Pamela could look forward to a well-deserved break.

In the meantime, Pamela had left the crew to sit and fabricate their stories, while she retrieved the canister and jumped over the side to meet up with Rick on the dark side of The Adriana.

All that was left to do was deal with the coffee Adonis on board, then the case would truly be over and they could hand over the canister.

As midnight approached they would board their beloved Adriana again and do the neccessary!

Pamela and Rick looked deep into each other’s eyes in the moonlight, as they clung to the side of the boat. They were looking forward to using The Adriana for their own again!

THE END

Contributing Authors: Susan Wade, Patsy Bell Hobson, RoseMarie Combrinck Coetzee, Phillip Secca, Lori Anne Locke, Terry Dubbs

Billy's Dirty Sneakers

"I don't want to go in there," Billy said, digging the toes of his dirty sneakers into the gravel of the parking lot.

"Lets go," his mother dragged Billy into his private writing lessons. "But she keeps staring at my feet. She has a thing for cheap shoes. Didn't you see what she made me write about last week? And she keeps wiggling her toes at me."

"Well, Billy, let’s just get through this. Maybe the next story won't be a shoe thing. Miss Susan is just working through this obsessive, compulsive, ugly, cheap shoe disorder"

"Mom, can we go to the Incredible Pizza Company when I'm done?

"Yes," his mother replied. "But first, I need to stop by Payless."

With the most incredible boots ever already on her feet - a one-of-a-kind pair she had shoplifted from Dillard's - Melinda pranced into the shoe store with Billy in tow.

Melinda eyed some red cowboy boots and a pair of satin-trimmed, toe-pinching pumps that were on sale while Billy tried to make himself and his dirty sneakers inconspicuous.

"Mom!"

"What, Billy?"

"MOM!" Billy said in a loud whisper.

"WHAT?" Melinda, snapped.

"That lady, at the cash register, keeps taking your picture and calling someone on her cell phone. A bunch of times."

"She's just taking pictures of my sexy boots and telling her friends about them," Melinda said, prancing about so the clerk would get a variety of photo angles.

Billy looked up at his mother and asked: "When can I have shoes people want to photograph?"

Melinda stopped prancing and said to Billy: “You can have shoes people want to photograph when pigs fly. There's only room in this family for one Shoe Queen," Melinda sneared. "And, that's ME!"

When it came to shoes, Melinda was the Imelda Marcos of Springfield, Missouri. Shoe Queen Melinda either pretended or, indeed, did not notice the tears running down Billy's cheeks.

She came to a halt (in a perfect shoe pose) when she noticed her husband and two security guards standing next to the clerk with the cell phone.

Her husband, Alexander, was a man with a shoe fetish so he and Melinda were the perfect pair. (Writer's note: Get it, perfect pair! ha!)

Alexander turned toward Melinda and Billy and said: "My little Shoe Queen, the bank seized our home yesterday; I was laid off today; soon we will have no place to store your enormous shoe collection. The doctor just called with our little Billy's test results."

Billy is living in the garage since his mom turned his bedroom into a stylish California Closets shoe room."OK, OK, let me just get this pair of sexy boots before they cut off my credit cards."

"Honey, I'm going to have to put my foot down," said her husband, Alexander. "The doctor says our little Billy needs corrective footwear."

Melinda paused from shoe shopping for a moment and glanced at Billy's dirty sneakers. She turned to Alexander and screeched: "He doesn't need new shoes. Only his big toes are sticking out. When his pinkie toes break through, he can have new shoes."

Alexander took a look at the sexy boots Melinda was eyeing, then at Billy's shoddy sneakers before nodding in agreement. "You're right, my precious Shoe Queen. No new shoes for Billy. But you, my dearest, can have all the shoes you want, especially sexy boots."

Alexander's infatuation with Melinda's feet and the shoes upon them was stronger than his paternal bond with Billy.

And that was just fine. Billy knew that as long as his parents kept their heads down, focused on their feet and footwear fetish, they would never see what was coming.

Billy had a plan - a get-rich-quick plan - that would leave his inattentive, shoe-freak parents' heads' spinning. He and Susan, his private writing tutor, had worked out all the details. Billy, who would celebrate his 35th birthday next week, and Susan, a drop-dead gorgeous brunette with impeccable taste in shoes, were going to open an eBay store selling his mother’s multitude of forgotten shoes.

Billy and Susan had both been accepted into medical school and were using the eBay shoe sales to pay for their first year.

Enough money was coming into their PayPal account to fill Susan's sock drawers. Susan had a sock fetish matched only by Melinda's shoe fetish. Susan, in fact, had enough socks to some day fulfill her dream of giving a pair of socks to every homeless child she examined at the free clinic. The free clinic that some day she and Billy would open.

Still, you meet some pretty peculiar PayPal people on eBay. Like that one buyer that asked if the shoes had ever been worn, because she was really only interested in buying secondhand Crocs.

She loved Crocs and couldn’t live without wearing a different pair each day! But on one occasion, she had really put her foot in it, when she realized she was wearing a pink Croc on her left foot and purple on her right. She thought back to getting dressed that morning and was sure she'd worn matching shoes but her memory of the hours after were foggy.

Maybe Billy was drugging her so he could secretly donate all her Crocs to "Doc Without Crocs," the international relief effort to smuggle the clunky footwear back into the country of origin.

At least he had inherited his mothers excellent taste in footwear.

The End!

Join the group and add to the stories! Contributing authors: Susan Wade, Patsy Bell Hobson, Melinda Arnold and RoseMarie Combrinck Coetzee

From It was a dark and stormy night... on Facebook at http://budurl.com/darkstormynight.

Lori Anne's Deception

Lori Anne slammed her bedroom door, shutting out the din of the TV in the living room.

“I swore I would never let him treat me that way again,” she said out loud. “I feel so stupid. How can I keep being so trusting?” Lori Anne thought to herself as she flopped on the bed. As she was staring at the ceiling, she once again vowed it would be the last time this would ever happen again.

Was that the door bell? She could barely hear the friendly ding ding dong over the booming TV. “What now?” She wondered as she opened the door. “Delivery for you, miss.” The brown uniform and truck were familiar - but this man, this vision, he was too handsome to be real.

Lori Anne batted her eyes and tossed her blonde hair, making it shimmer in the sunlight streaming through the door. She wished she was wearing her cute pink sandles instead of purple Crocs but there was nothing she could do about that.

“Can I help you?” she said in her sexiest voice, hoping to draw attention to her beautiful face instead of her ugly feet where the man in brown was staring.

“I have a delivery for you, miss,” he said again. Oh, his dark shiny hair, coffee-colored eyes, the tan of a hard working man. She had never noticed how good those uniforms looked on a man who obviously worked out.

"Is that my pizza!?” came a dream-shattering shout over the TV that was blaring “Bad boys. Bad boys. Watcha gonna do when they come for you?”

Embarrassed, she tossed her golden hair and said, “I guess that’s not a pizza.”

“No ma’am. It’s from Victoria’s Secret. They don’t sell cheesy stuff,” smiled the Adonis with coffee-colored eyes. He handed her a pen. “Sign here.”

It was then that Lori’s eyes came open and she realized it was a cruel dream.

Realizing dream sequences aren’t allowed on “It was a dark and storm night…,” Wayne snapped awake, his muscle-toned forearm rippling as handed the pen to Lori Anne.“Do you want to show me what you ordered from Victoria’s Secret,” Wayne said, flashing a suggestive grin that revealed pearly-perfect teeth.

Lori Anne smiled back, pushed open the screen door and invited Wayne into the house. “Wait here,” she said, before stomping into the sparsely-furnished living room and ordering her dad to turn down the TV’s volume.

"BAD BOYS! BAD BOYS! Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?” Edward sang from his recliner, while turning down the volume with the remote. “Is the pizza here?"

Lori Anne turned to her dad and said, “not yet.”

She thought about the day that her dad would be well enough to move out. She loved her dad, but it sort of puts a wrinkle in the dating scene when you invite a guy in and your dad is sitting in the recliner.

This wasn’t how she had planned it at all. Her life was supposed to be better than this. Deep inside she knew she just missed “him.” Mr. Right. She was tired of seeing Mr. Right Now. If Mr. Right would only come to his senses, he would know that the break up was a mistake. In her mind Raul was the one…

The Argentinian sun blazed wickedly as Raul carried more adobe bricks closer to the royal “sand castle” that was slowly being transformed into a modest church. He wondered if he’d made the right decision. He missed Lori Anne terribly and often wished he could gaze into her beautiful baby blues just one more time. And those soft, pouty lips could jump start any motorhome with just one kiss!

“But I’ve lost her for certain this time. I’m sure she’s found someone else by now,” he pondered. Dropping his bricks he speaks out loud, “What am I saying? It’s not like Lori Anne would fall for just any delivery boy that came to her front door! I’ll hike into town to find a phone and call her tomorrow."

That is, if he can walk after dropping bricks on his foot.

Lori Anne stammered, looked embarrassed and said to the man in brown, “Perhaps another time. When there is more time. I know you are busy with holiday deliveries.”Sweet lovely and lonely Lori Anne shut the door. She said to herself, “Oh dearest daddy, I think it’s time you went on that senior singles cruise. Surely you’ll be strong enough by the time the ticket gets here. We can talk about it when the pizza comes.”

The doorbell rang again and Lori Anne opened it to discover another gorgeous Speciman of Man standing before her. Sven was a blue-eyed blond foreign exchange student from Sweden working his way through college delivering pizzas. “Pizza delivery, miss,” Sven said, his eyes scanning her head-to-toe before focusing on the purple Crocs on Lori Anne’s feet.

“BAD BOYS! BAD BOYS!” Lori Anne’s father sang from the living room.

“Come in. Come in just a minute while I get my wallet.” She saw Sven, and as handsome as he was, she knew where her heart was and that no one would ever take the place of Raul.

She wondered if she had realistic expectations from any relationship she had ever had. Maybe she was waiting for a Prince Charming that would never come… or maybe never come for her. But oh how she missed Raul. She just couldn’t let go and move on.

She remembered when she parked her car on the street by Raul’s driveway and let all the air out of a tire. He drove right by her like she wasn’t even there. The story of her life. “What length does a girl have to go to?” she thought to herself as she wondered what Raul was doing today. She knew Raul was in Argentina building churches but she didn’t know if he ever thought about her.

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” she whispered to herself, pulling her wallet from her purse to pay Sven for the pizza. She turned with cash in hand to find Sven right behind her.

“Miss,” Sven said, “That man in the living room is the first person who has ever ordered a pizza with no toppings, no cheese. I kind of hate to charge you for this naked pizza.”

“Oh, he’s on a very restricted diet.”

“And miss,” he stepped even closer and whispered her ear, “I belong to a Facebook support group called I Don’t care How Comfortable Crocs Are, You Look Like A Dumbass. Can I send you an invitation?”

Enraged, Lori lets loose a tirade, “Listen ‘pizza boy’ you’d better just take your money and go peddle your pizzas elsewhere! You can bet that this is the last time I order another Bell Hobson pizza! If I didn’t think this was the only job you’re qualified to do, I’d call your manager to get you fired!!”

Sensing that the Facebook title’s “Dumbass” inclusion may have offended a, now, potentially non-repeat customer, Sven decides to never offer advice to another customer. At least not while making a delivery.Meanwhile, Raul awakens under the Argentinian moon with a start! He wonders why he has a sudden yearning for pizza... plain... with no toppings... or cheese... ?

Maybe his subconscious was giving him a new product to introduce to the public. Pasta pies? Possibly baked in an adobe brick oven?

“Ah but I must sleep, if tomorrow I am going to hike all the way to town to call my sweet Lori Anne.”

Lori Anne sat alone in the dark and reflected on the insanity her life had become. She soaked in the silence of the house and decided to call her friend, Susan.

“What is wrong with Crocs?” she asked her friend Susan Wade as she sobbed on the phone. “I mean, I’m a good person. I have good taste, don’t I? I know I have one ear that’s bigger and my eyes aren’t really what you would call even. I love Crocs...” (Writer’s question-what are Crocs?)

Susan couldn’t get a word in. She had just met Lori Anne three days ago. But Susan, being the kind person that she was, said: “I’m sorry, but who is this?"

Susan added: “Miss, we’re not interested in Crocs - those ugly rubbery-looking shoes that are all the rage for Branson tourists. And we’re on Missouri’s No-Call List. If you call us again, we’ll report you to the Missouri Attorney General.”Stunned by Susan’s vitriolic reaction to her call, Lori Anne quickly hung up the phone and decided to call Phillip.

Phillip, who had recently begun wearing fur-trimmed Santa hats, was a good friend who might listen. (Writer’s note: At the least, he would understand Lori Anne’s odd apparel preferences.)

Phillip picked up on the second ring. “Hi Lori Anne.” Phillip sang. “I’m so glad you called! I was just fluffing the tassle on my Santa cap and wondering if you were free to go shoe shopping. I just found out I have horrible taste! What the.....????? I had no idea that Victoria’s Secret apparel and Crocs don’t go together! Maybe we can find you a new Santa hat, too. And maybe while we’re out, we can get a little dinner and maybe catch a movie downtown. C’mon it’ll be fun!”

The last thing Phillip wanted to do was stop fluffing the tassle on his cap. And the idea of ruining his cute Santa’s Helper Image by hanging out downtown with a woman who didn’t realize lingerie and Crocs don’t go together, even when the colors match perfectly, was appalling.

“We hav... a ...bad... conn... tion, Lor ... Anne,” Phillip stammered. ”..all me... bac... in a few... minu... s.”

Lori Anne stared at the phone clenched in her hand as the call to Phillip disconnected.

“Oh yeah, right! Like he hasn’t pulled that stunt before,” Lori blistered. Determined not to be ignored, again, she redialed Phillip’s number. Once it picked up she yelled, “How many times do you think you can get away with that phoney out-of-service-area stunt? If you don’t want to go shopping, just say so!”

A woman’s voice responds to Lori, “I’m sorry, but who is this?”

“I’m Lori An... wait a minute... Susan, is that you? I can’t believe this! You and Phillip? I can’t wait to hear the explanation for this one!”

“I, I, (sigh) I’m a sucker for tassles! There I said it. I LOVE TASSLES!” Susan lets out a huge sigh of relief. “I didn’t want anyone to know, but I just had to see it again. And if you tell anybody, I will deny it!”

“I’m so shocked at you right now,” Lori stammered.

Phillip cuts in on the extension, “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but doggone it, I’m a man and I have needs too! We’ll always be friends and go out for coffee now and again like before.”

“I guess everybody deserves to find happiness where ever they can, right?” Lori sighed.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re not so bad,” then Phillip whispers, “Guess who’s wearing my Crocs right now.” Phillip giggles.

That’s when Lori hears Susan scream in the background something incoherent and the phone slams. “Gotta go before Sue tries to flush my Crocs!” Phillip hangs up the extension.

“I need some ice cream,” Lori says.

While Lori was savoring an Ozarks Turtle in the parking lot of Andy’s Frozen Custard, her home phone was ringing. And ringing. After that long walk into town, Raul was not going back to his church building duties without talking to his beloved Lori Anne.

He ordered another Quilmes Cristal lager beer, then he would try calling his sweet Lori Anne again.“I wish she was here to enjoy this Argentine brew with me. Although she could probably still drink me under the table,” he muttered into his beer.

Lori shivered as she tried to drown her sorrows with an Ozarks Turtle made of frozen custard, chocolate, caramel and pecans. It was her favorite dish at Andy’s Frozen Custard.

“This stuff is the best treat in town, even in the middle of winter,” she said, thinking about ordering one for the road and wishing for the warmth of summer.

Thoughts of summer led Lori to dream of another favorite treat, Pineapple Whip at Ozark Empire Fair, and the last time she and Raul had been together. Her tequila-blurred memories included Raul scraping the peperoni and cheese off his giant pizza slice as they strolled the midway.

Meanwhile, Raul counted the empty beer bottles lined up on the bar. Six beer bottles, six unanswered calls to Lori Anne. He was about to hang up, when he heard an angelic voice say, “Hello?”

“Hello?” Raul said. “Lori Anne? Is that really you?”

“Raul? I didn’t expect you to call me!” Lori Anne felt her palms begin to sweat. Her left eye was twitching. “Raul! I was just sitting here thinking about how I can’t wait to have a Pineapple Whip at the Ozark Empire Fair, which is July 31st through August 9th! Tell me that you’ll meet me there!”

“I’m not s-s-sure if I can make it back in time,” Raul stammered for no apparent reason. “What were those dates again?”

Lori Anne started to repeat the dates when she heard a sound behind her and the phone line went dead.

“Do you have a bad connection??? Listen closely this time because I don’t want you to miss it! The Ozark Empire Fair is July 31 through August 9th!” Lori Anne repeated as loudly as she could.

Raul paused a moment and said, “I don’t know if I can make it! What are you doing during Firefall?”

“Firefall? Well I was planning to...”

And the line goes really dead this time. Dead dead dead.

“Dang it, I hate it when AT&T drops my calls!”

Then, for no apparent reason, Lori Anne starts singing an old Dr. John song, and substituting parts she didn’t know with new lyrics:

"I was in the right place, but it must have been the wrong time. I was in the right vein, but it must’ve been the wrong line.

I was in the right lane, but I want to make a left turn. I was in my right brain, but I didn’t want a heartburn..."

"WHEN WILL THIS DECEPTION EVER END?” Lori Anne said to herself. “Will this go on forever??? I just want a little happiness for cryin’ out loud!”

Lori Anne was thinking about a new love interest that had wandered into her life a little more than a week ago – Felipe. She had met him at a group she attended.

He----was----so----dreamy...

While visiting a castle that a friend owned, Felipe had snuck her out to the balcony and kissed her passionately under the light of the moon. “YOWZA!” was the only thing she could think to describe that kiss.

“Who am I kidding?” Lori Anne thought to herself. She was deceiving herself if she thought she could really hold back the passion she felt for Felipe.

Meanwhile, Raul was eyeing a dark-eyed beauty at the bar and thinking about Lori Anne’s annoying habit of making up lyrics to songs she didn’t know. When the girl at the bar started singing karoke in a husky alto, and got all the words right, Raul immediately fell head over heels.

Back in Missouri, Lori Anne was thinking about Felipe. His passionate kiss had erased all thoughts of Raul. She smiled and began singing quietly.

“Good boys. Good boys. Whatcha gonna do with my purple shoes...

The End

Contributing authors: Susan Wade, Lori Anne Locke, Patsy Bell Hobson, Wayne Nale, Phillip Secca

From It was a dark and stormy night... on Facebook at http://budurl.com/darkstormynight. Join the group and add to the stories!

Parenting = Insanity?

Parenting isn't easy.

Insanity, on the other hand, is easily achieved, especially by parents.

But having crazy parents is devastating and demoralizing. Youth who have the misfortune to be trapped in a home with looney parents have few choices.

Some youth choose rebellion, or rage as a way of coping. Others run away. Some just plug in the ipod and pretend to ignore the nutsos.

Most parents are insane. They get it from their kids. Kids on the other hand, pretend that the parents have always been a bit ... off.

The fact is that when kids eventually leave home, their parents make a miraculous recovery!

And they figure out how to get even! They can spoil their grandchildren. They do this by holding the infant more than any baby needs to be held so the baby thinks it must be held every moment of the day. They give in to every whim of the toddler, who learns quickly to throw temper tantrums, particularly in public places. When the child is in elementary school, the grandparents give the child lavish gifts that can't compare with the educational toys their parents want them to have. When the teen years arrive, the grandparents give the teen money, no questions asked. The result is their dhildren - the parents of their grandchildren - quickly become insane, repeating a cycle that has gone on for generations.

Revenge, my friends, is sweet!

That's a given.

End of Story.

Contributing authors: Susan Wade, Patsy Bell Hobson, Rosemarie Combrinck Coetzee

Case of the Missing Kringle

9:45 p.m.

I knew it was going to be another one of those strange days when the call came in over the radio. A missing persons report for a K. Kringle to be exact.

An odd coincidence, this being the night before Christmas and all, that someone would actually have the name "Kringle."

I'm Sgt. Charlie Dickens and being the only detective that was working this holiday...well... I had to take the call.

10:02 p.m.

I arrived at the scene. That's when I saw it; an overturned sleigh in the snow - packages strewn everywhere."C'mon guys! The joke's on me, right? Our missing person is 'Santa Claus'?"

"Hey, this is how we found it, sarge. No one's touched a thing!" one of the uniforms replied.

"If I find out you're prankin me you'll get more than a lump of coal in yer stocking this year, pal!"Suddenly it all became real when I noticed the blood stains in the snow by the sleigh. Santa may not be real but this blood was real enough. OK, time to go to work.

What luck to have snow on Christmas eve! The footprints were much easier to follow. Focusing on the boot prints I tried to ignore all of the hoof marks that ran everywhere.

That's when I found it... an open canister of sour cream and onion Pringles potato chips sitting on the street curb, just a few feet from the overturned sleigh. Though the sleigh and strewn packages were covered with a light dusting of snow, the Pringles can didn't show any signs of exposure to the weather.

"Hey fellas," over here, I shouted. "We need to check this for finger prints."

10:15 p.m.

As we investigated the scene, a crowd began gathering, includling a short, tubby guy with pointy ears who was wearing... candy cane striped tights.

"Ho ho ho" I said." Officer Holiday, see what the fat guy in the green vest and striped tights knows about this 'accident.' I'm going to see where these tracks lead.

"It didn't take a K9 unit to track the prints and the occasional jingle bell all the the to the zoo. “Someone went to a lot of trouble for this hoax,” I mumbled to myself. The door was busted open on Santa's Workshop, where the Friends of Dickerson Park Zoo sponsored photos with Santa Claus and his reindeer every day right up until Christmas Eve.

"Geez, now a break-in. I'm gonna be doing paperwork until New Years at the rate this is going."

"Pssst. Hey flat-foot, over here," a voice spoke around the corner."I saw the whole thing, I tell ya," it continued.

Rounding the turn I come face-to-face with two beadie eyes surrounded by creamy white feathers.

"Geez, a talkin bird? That's all I need right now!"

The bird continued, "I tell ya I saw the whole thing. You got any crackers? Seeds? C'mon copper, give us a donut!""I'm gettin too old for this ..."

11:45 p.m.

As I stared into the white bird's beadie eyes, a flatulent Christmas fairy appeared. Puffing clouds of glitter out its rear, the fairy flapped its dainty wings and said in its tiny fairy voice: "I saw it, too." The fairy blushed as another blast of glitter blew out it's behind - Pooft.

And then, from under the rubble of the vandalized Santa's Workshop, I heard, a faint, "Oh, Oh, Oh."

11:50 p.m.

I didn't really know what to say or do, since I've never actually seen a real-live flying fairy before; at least not since I've been on the wagon.

"You're still a cop, so do your job," I reminded myself. Tracing my glance to where the moanings were coming from I prayed that it wasn't another fairy under that debris. I mean it's hard enough keeping my professionalism and composure while in the company of ONE fairy. I'm not sure that I can if there was a second one.I started reaching down to move a board... and that's when it hit me, the smell...

"Hey, you farted didn't you? Geez don't get any of that cra... I mean, dust on me! And stand... er... hover over there, down wind."

"So that's where pixie dust comes from," I thought aloud to myself.

"Actually it oozes out of our entire bodies, kinda like exhaling. And it's FAIRY dust! I'm no stinkin' pixie, Sherlock! Want to see some more?"

"Hey, git over here and help me move these boards, you little fairy!"

"Roger that," she replied, flying toward the rubble and leaving fairy residue in her wake."Aaa-CHOO!" I sneezed. Guess I'm alergic to fairy dust.

Who knew.

1:10 a.m.

After my sneezing fit ended, a louder "Oh, oh, oh" came from beneath the overturned sleigh and we began working quickly to uncover whoever - or whatever - was buried beneath.

The fairy moved the little stuff, the fat guy in the green vest huffed and puffed as he pulled away the larger boards and the beadie-eyed bird pecked at anything that moved.

I grabbed the edge of the sleigh and with a heave, uprighted it. We all stared at what was beneath. The bird flapped its wings, squawked and flew to the roof of Santa's vandalized workshop.

1:15 a.m.

And what to my blurry eyes should appear but the jolly old elf himself and eight tiny reindeer. "OK my deer, we're out of here. This seasonal story will be continued next year."

The End

Contributing authors: Phillip Secca, Susan Wade, Patsy Bell Hobson

From It was a dark and stormy night... on Facebook at http://budurl.com/darkstormynight.
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